“No problem. I’ll get his stuff, and you two can head out for a day of adventure.” He turns to the sink, opening the cabinets beneath and grabbing a large bag of food before turning back to me. “And I meant what I said. I hope I’m wrong. I know Theo’s been lonely. You guys could be good for each other.”
His tone implies it’s more likely that monkeys will leap out of my ass and dance the hula, but I ignore that and keep the peace. “Thanks. I think we are.”
And then I make a break for it before Zack can sniff out my lie.
I’m not good for Theo, but I’m not bad for her, either. I’m chaotic neutral, and for a three-week relationship, that’s perfectly fine, no matter what Saint Zack might think about it if he knew the truth.
Chapter Nine
Cutter
Once I’m outside with Thermos, walking back toward my dad’s place with pooch-sitting supplies, I call Theo. She answers on the second ring with a scratchy, “Hello, Mr. Comstock. It’s barely nine a.m.”
“Were you still sleeping, princess?”
“I was. We had a tilapia crisis at the restaurant after closing last night. Gene fired our back of house manager because he decided her job was redundant, and our ordering system has been screwed ever since. So I had to wake the fishmonger at midnight and go grab more fillets so the lunch shift wouldn’t be short today. I didn’t get home until almost two.”
I cluck sympathetically. “We gotta get you out of there, Squirt. We can sign the lease today instead of tomorrow if you want.”
She yawns. “Tomorrow is fine. I’m not going to be able to open my own place until autumn, anyway. I need a bigger nest egg to feel totally ready to make the leap. I’m stuck at Claudio’s until September, so I might as well make the best of it. Oh, and my chin is healing crazy fast. I don’t look gimpy at all anymore.”
“You never looked gimpy; you look wounded. There’s a difference.”
“Well, I’m much better now. You can’t see the scab at all unless I tilt my head all the way back. You want me to meet you for coffee near Megan’s office before I head into work this afternoon? See if we can cross paths with your lady love?”
“I was thinking the dog park, actually. Noon. Me, you, Thermos the pug, and a latte we’ll romantically share as we run into Megan while she’s taking her wieners out to play.”
Theo snorts. “That sounds so wrong.”
“She has two dachshunds. They’re psychotic and like to attack other animals, like evil twins from a horror movie, but she still takes them to the dog park for half an hour every day at noon. Makes a special trip home from work to do it.”
“Still? Even after having the baby?”
“I can’t imagine she would change that part of her routine,” I say, pausing to let Thermos sniff a row of especially fragrant shrubs. “Edgar and Allen were her first babies.”
Theo laughs huskily, which does things to my dick. “Where’s Poe? She should have gotten three.”
“There was a goldfish named Poe, but he died tragically in the gutter, the brilliance of his life’s work unrecognized in his own time.”
“Of course he did.” She giggles again, a sweeter sound that also does things to my dick. Because my dick is a stupid, stubborn creature that refuses to acknowledge that some women can’t be won over, no matter how hard he gets.
And he is hard.
Embarrassingly so.
I need to get laid, but I can’t risk trolling for a one-night stand in Hidden Kill Bay, not when Megan’s friends with half the people in town, and I’m supposed to be showing her how loyal, devoted, and ready to settle down I am.
If only Theo weren’t so dead set on excluding benefits from our fake fiancé package.
Kissing her and holding her have only reminded me how much I’d like to keep kissing her and holding her and doing other wicked, wonderful things to her banging body. I’ve been fantasizing way too often lately about all the ways I’d like to make her sing my praises.
I’m fantasizing about it right now, in fact. Even watching Thermos lift his leg to christen the brick wall beneath the shrubs isn’t enough to get my mind out of the gutter.
My thoughts are so distracting that I miss what Theo says next and have to haul my focus back to the matter at hand.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat and give the dog’s leash a gentle tug, urging him back onto the sidewalk. “I missed that. Thermos was giving me shit.”
“Oh, he was not. He’s the most adorable dog in the world, and I can’t wait to see him. I said I’ll see you at the dog park at noon. And I’ll pick up our romantic latte on the way. Is lavender honey flavor okay? I’ve been obsessed with those lately.”
“Sounds good, and thanks. Can’t wait to see you.”
She hesitates, the line going quiet before she adds, “Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.”
I smile. “See. I’m like Christmas—annoying as hell while it’s happening, but once it’s over, you miss the chaos.”
Theo laughs. “You’re crazy. You’re nothing like Christmas. You’re Valentine’s Day—horrible in theory but, every once in a while, way more fun than you’d expect.”
It’s not a compliment, not really, but for some reason, it makes my heart lift the way it did when Thermos ran over to beg for neck scratches. “See you soon then, Squirt. Be sure to wear comfy shoes. Thermos and I are hot for a game of fetch.”
Hearing the word fetch causes Thermos to glance back and snuffle-bark, breaking into a wide, tongue-dangling grin.
I return the smile, adding, “I think this dog is like Valentine’s Day, too.”
“No, Thermos is Thanksgiving—all goodness and gratitude and love.”
Unexpectedly, her words get to me, making my throat go tight as I say goodbye and end the call. I’ve never had that kind of Thanksgiving and never thought I was missing out—who wants to be trapped in a turkey-funked house with dozens of your most annoying relatives?—but the warmth in Theo’s voice makes me want to give Thanksgiving another chance.
Maybe with someone special…
Like Megan.
But as Thermos and I head back to my dad’s place to rest up for our park adventure, it isn’t Megan’s face drifting through my thoughts. And when I climb the stairs to find my old man sitting on the porch swing, his scruffy face lifted to soak in the sun, it doesn’t seem weird that the first words out of his mouth are about Theo.
“You talk your girl into coming over again yet?” he asks, his voice rough from years of smoking cigarettes even though he quit when I was ten. Then, “Nice dog. We keeping it?”
I shake my head. “No, just dog sitting for Zack. And no on Theo, too, but she’ll come around.” Or not, I add silently, trying not to think about how little time I have left in Hidden Kill Bay.
And when I get back, Theo and I are going to fake break up, our fake relationship will be over, and she won’t have a reason to come visit me at my dad’s place. I’ll be moving into my new condo at the cracker factory and probably never sleep over in my childhood bedroom ever again.
That last part should be a relief, I guess. And it is. Mostly.
Dad grunts. “You could tell her I have dementia and have forgotten the whole thing.”
“You’re not old enough to have dementia.”
“Sure, I am. Kathy down the street started getting it when she was in her fifties. Real rough on her kids.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I say, fighting the urge to flee into the house.
This is one of the longest, most civil conversations Dad and I have had since I got home, and who knows how many more chances I’ll have to catch up with him like this. Once I move out of here for good, I have no illusions about Dad coming to visit me at my new digs.
If I want to see him, I’ll have to come here, and I know myself well enough to realize I’ll find any excuse to avoid this place. There are good memories here, but there are way more shitty ones, and I’m sick of running into the ghosts of my younger, more fucked-up self wander
ing the halls.
“Is she still living at home?” I ask, remembering Kathy as a sweet loudmouth who hugged her kids as much as she screamed at them, which seemed like a pretty good deal to me at the time.
Dad shakes his head. “Nah, she’s at some home. Don’t ever stick me in one of those places, okay? If my mind goes, I’d rather wander out in the street and get run over.”
“Got it,” I say, leaning against the porch railing as Thermos flops down on his side in the shade by the front door, clearly content to stay and visit a while. “Or I could take you out in my boat, tie the anchor to your leg, and push you over the side.”
Dad’s blue eyes shift to meet mine, amusement flickering in their depths. “Sounds good. But get me good and drunk first.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink when you have dementia.”
“You’re not supposed to drown your parents, either. If we’re breaking some of the rules, we might as well break them all.”
I laugh. “That’s fucking dark, Dad.”
“Not really. Just practical.” He pauses, chewing the corner of his mouth. “I like that she called you an asshole right off the bat. She’s got spunk, that one. She wouldn’t let you run all over her.”
I sigh, wishing I’d gone inside before we got to the “Cutter’s a fuckup” part of the conversation, but he always seems to spring it on me. “I don’t run all over women, Dad. I told you, things are different these days. A lot of girls are fine with something casual.”
“That girl won’t be. She’s the little Indian girl, right? The one whose parents used to run Hurry Curry?”
I roll my eyes, wondering how my father can make something sound racist, even when he’s not technically saying anything that’s off-limits. “Yeah, she is.”
“I remember her. She was always a real hard worker. Even when she was a tiny little thing. You could learn a few things from her.”
My lips part to launch into the same argument—that I do work hard, and that having a creative career doesn’t mean I’m some lazy sack of shit—but I find myself nodding instead. “Yeah. I probably could. And maybe I will.”
My dad’s furry eyebrows creep higher on his forehead. “Good. I can be out of the house on Sunday night if you want.”
The tension in my chest loosens. “Thanks, but it’s fine, Dad. Theo has her own place, and I can always get a hotel room if I need to. I have the money.”
“Sure, but sometimes it’s nice to be in your own space,” he says gruffly. “And I’ll probably be busy anyway. Deb’s having a few people over.”
My ears prick at the mention of my dad’s one and only old flame, the only woman he dated seriously after my mom left, but I play it cool. “Yeah? You guys talking again?”
He leans back in the swing with a shrug. “We figured it might be worth taking another look at things.”
I blink. I’ve never known my dad to “take another look at things.” Once he’s made his mind up about something, that chapter in his life is over and done. No revisions, no redactions. “Well…good. That’s cool. I always liked Deb.”
“She likes you, too. She has all your records. Actually bought the real old-style records you put out for that special promotion instead of the digital copies. Said they sound better that way.”
“I think so. More nuance.”
“Yeah. I’ve always liked vinyl. I might take a set of those for Christmas this year, if you have any extras lying around.”
“Sure thing,” I say, even though I do not have any extras lying around except my own limited-edition copies signed by the band and currently stowed in my storage unit, awaiting installation into my new bachelor pad.
But this is the closest my dad has gotten to expressing an interest in my music in years, and I’m not about to piss on the olive branch.
I hesitate a moment longer, wanting to say something more, to take advantage of the thaw in the ice between us. But so much has been left unsaid for so long that it surges up inside me all at once, getting stuck in a painful bottleneck somewhere between my heart and throat.
But then Thermos rubs against my leg, ready for another neck scratch, and I think about what Theo said about Thanksgiving and gratitude.
Finally, I say, “Thanks, Dad,” even though the two words are scary as fuck.
After so many years of strained interpersonal reactions with this man, it’s hard as hell to let down my guard even that much. I know from experience that he’s more likely to push me away than welcome even a hint of the touchy-feely shit, but this time, he just grunts, nods, and mumbles, “Sounds good, son.”
To any normal person watching from the outside, that might not seem like much, but it’s a giant leap forward for us.
“I’m going to make a grilled cheese,” I say, my throat tight. “Want one?”
“Yeah, but no tomato.”
“Got it,” I say, opening the door and ushering Thermos into the house before unclipping him from his leash.
He immediately wanders into the living room to sniff every chair and table, and I head into the kitchen to make an early lunch, feeling as though I’m in a strange new world. There’s no telling if it will last or if the floorboards beneath my feet will hold, but for the first time in a long time, I’m cautiously optimistic.
I want to call Theo and talk to her about it, but I dismiss the idea.
I’ll see her in a couple of hours.
More importantly, I don’t need to establish a bad pattern. Zack had Theo first. I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate me horning in on his friendship game long-term, and I’ve never been the type who can maintain a long-distance relationship well, even a friendly one.
As soon as I’m out of the country, Theo will fade from my awareness. I’m an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kind of guy, and once I’m deep in a new routine, I doubt I’ll make it a habit to call Theo to check in. If we’ve gotten used to talking all the time, that might hurt her feelings, and I don’t want to do that.
But maybe a text would be okay…
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and shoot her a quick note. Has hell frozen over? I just had a semi-heart-warming talk with the old man.
Almost immediately, bubbles fill the screen. That’s awesome! And no, hell hasn’t frozen over. I don’t think either of you is as grumpy as you’d like the rest of the world to believe.
Flipping my grilled cheese with one hand, I text back with the other, I’m not grumpy. I’m a jaded rock god. There’s a difference, princess.
She sends over an eye roll emoji. Of course. How could I forget? See you soon, rock god. I’m happy for you. Glad you’re having a good morning.
I smile and tuck my phone back in my pocket.
I am having a good morning, and I’m set up to have an even better afternoon.
Chapter Ten
Theodora
It’s a glorious spring day, with just enough chill in the air to make my cheeks tingle as I cross Williams Park to the dog run in the corner by the community garden. Even on a weekday, the park is hopping, filled with people soaking up the first rays of sunshine after the long, rainy winter.
I spot Cutter long before I reach the first gate surrounding the run. His shaggy golden hair glows in the sun, and his smile as he watches Thermos chase a smaller pug in circles is arresting.
I swear, he gets prettier every time I see him.
And then he turns his head, grin widening as he spots me, and my blood goes fizzy in my veins.
I smile and wave, ignoring the giddy-up of my pulse as I make my way through the two gates and past the doggy fountain to his side. So he makes me tingle in ways a man who’s “just a pal” shouldn’t. So what? As long I keep the tingling to myself and don’t let my fake boyfriend know how often I think about for-real kissing him, everything will be okay.
Though the dirty dream I had about him last night was graphic enough to leave me feverish when I woke up this morning. I had to stand in a cold shower for a good five minutes to ba
nish the heat from my skin.
But that was just a dream. In real life, I know better than to sleep with a friend, especially not a friend I’m coming to like as much as I like Cutter. If we introduce sex into the mix, there’s a chance my warm feelings will morph into something more serious, and that would be the stupidest thing ever.
Cutter’s in love with someone else. He’s been very up front about that. And it would never work between us, anyway. We’re way too different.
Still, when he opens an arm and pulls me in for a hug, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and murmuring, “You smell nice,” against my skin, the glittering feeling inside me sparkles brighter.
“Thanks.” I smile up at him. “I showered.”
“Hot,” he says, his sleepy green eyes barely visible behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.
“Not really. It was a pretty standard, everyday kind of shower.”
He arches a brow. “Invite me over next time, and I’ll spice it up for you.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m losing the will to rein him in, and I don’t sound even a little bit irritated as I say, “Boundaries. Yada yada.”
He grins shamelessly. “Right. Yada yada. Can’t forget the yada yada.”
I sigh, forcing my gaze from his. “So, is your true love here?”
He takes a step back, reaching for the coffee in my hand as I kneel to pet a wriggling Thermos and his new friend, a younger pug who dances in to sniff my hand before dancing away again, clearly too busy playing to stop for more than a quick scratch.
“Yep. She’s right on time, as predicted.” Cutter lifts the cup to his lips and adds behind it, “Over by the benches in the corner.”
I stand and stretch, pretending to check out the buds popping out on the trees before glancing discreetly in that direction.
And there she is—Megan, looking gorgeous, as usual. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a slouchy pair of gray pants and a pink and black shawl that would look frumpy on an average human, but on her, it seems the height of fashion. At her feet, two long, skinny dogs are mauling a chew toy like it’s committed treason against wiener dog-kind, making intimidating growling sounds loud enough to carry across the large run.
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